iJust Want You to Hear Me
by Tewr
Summary: Sam's cruelty to Freddie has gone too far before. But when Sam creates a prank to seek revenge on Freddie, and it goes horribly wrong, how can she attempt to fix it when she doesn't even listen? Does she even want to? UPDATED
1. Preface

**Disclaimer:** I don't own iCarly. It belongs to its creators.

* * *

**iJust Want You to Hear Me**

.-.

**Preface**

.-.

Some may not believe this, but my mother is a very wise woman. Sure, she has her moments, here and there, where she is blinded by fear and paranoia and lets it control her, making her crazy, but she _is_ wise. Her rash decisions might usually lack the intelligence needed to call her wise, but all my life, I could count on her to give me advice on certain things. I don't go to her for advice about girls though; I made that mistake when I was very young. She started freaking out, and crying, begging me not to grow up and leave her so soon. It broke her heart, and cracked mine.

You see, my mother has what some might call, "abandonment issues." I know it's not that, because her reactions, or overreactions, to things logically make sense. My dad divorced my mom when I was just five, and she never knew why, and he would never tell her. He would just look at her, and then look at me, and no matter how much she begged for him to stay, he just…didn't. She blamed herself, of course. But, tell me. If my father wanted to leave so desperately that he ignored my mother's pleas so much, she eventually gave up, how is it her fault he's gone? She wanted him to stay. I was pretty sure _I _wanted him to stay, and I was just a little kid. But, he left us, and now my mom always fears I'll do the same thing some day.

Every night I tell her that I'm not going anywhere, and I'm here to stay, through thick and thin, but she just responds in a quiet voice, "I know," tells me she loves me, gives me a kiss on the forehead, a small smile and she's off to bed. I always wonder if she's getting enough sleep, because every morning, since I met Carly and Sam and we began iCarly, she looks dead tired. When I ask her about it, she just casually responds saying it's stress, she hadn't had her coffee yet, or the lighting is off. I have to let it pass though. Whatever's bothering her, she wants to deal with herself, and if I could figure it out I would, but I can't. My best bet is that it has something to do with iCarly, but I don't know what.

I'll do something when I find out.

That's what she's always telling me to do, and it's one of her biggest lessons on wisdom. You know how there's this famous idiom saying, actions speak louder than words? Well, although over millions of people agree with that saying, my mom thinks it's exactly the opposite. She has this theory that people act when they don't feel strong enough to say something, or they simply can't. At first, I thought it was bogus, but now, it's the only thing that makes sense. Someone whose voice is damaged because of a serious cold wants to initially talk using their voice, but they typically can't, so they have to resort to actions to get their point across. I.E: Writing. My mother thinks the vocal chords are more expressive than the eyes, and are the windows to someone's soul, and with each passing day I'm finding it easier to believe. I mean, when someone's sad, their voice usually betrays them and they can't hide what they're feeling. There's usually a hitch somewhere in their vocal pattern, making their sound stifled. I know I'm being a total geek right now, but this is the only way I'll be able to understand it. When someone's lying, their voice is typically a pitch higher, and I don't know exactly why, but a good theory, one my mother produced has to do with the guilt we experience in childhood.

When we are children, our voice boxes have not fully developed and matured, so we are all left with higher voices than teenagers, and adults. When we're kids, we're filled with innocence, _most_ of us at least; I can think of someone who _wasn't_, so it makes sense if our voices take us back to that moment of childhood innocence when our pitches were incredibly high when we attempt to lie, right? I mean, when we lie, we, mostly because of our conscience, feel a sense of guilt and begin to question our own innocence without anyone prompting us to question it ourselves. So, when we begin to question that innocence, we're unconsciously brought back to our childhood and our phonetics match up with then. That makes sense, right?

Of course, according to my mother there are those whose conscious is either non-existent, the sociopaths, and those whose conscious has been blocked by something, whether it be an unconscious memory causing pain so great, it shuts off all forms of guilt, or the person themselves, who know guilt, but don't want to acknowledge it. I didn't want to believe I knew someone who matched either of these descriptions, but I couldn't deny it. My friend/never-wavering crush's best friend, Sam Puckett.

I didn't know what it was, or why, but Sam always seemed hesitant to feel guilt. Sure, she feels it every once in awhile, like when she does something horribly wrong, but typically, the guilt is lacking. Is that why she is so capable of lying? Because she doesn't ever really feel any sense of remorse when she makes my life living pain, humiliates me, and hurts me more than physically, she has something blocking her guilt? I don't understand why or how someone could intentionally do something like that, but Sam Puckett can, and she always will. Even when Carly tells her it's wrong, and she knows she hurts me, she'll always be the same.

So, I just have to keep speaking up, and speaking out against it. I never stopped telling her to stop because I always hoped that she would get the picture and understand that everything she does hurts, but she doesn't get it. She never did. And she never will….

Because now, I can't speak out anymore, and I have no strength left to show her through my actions. So that famous idiom goes, "actions speak louder than words."

Funny.

I have nothing left to say, or do. How can she ever understand me now?


	2. Chapter 1: Two Weeks Before

**Disclaimer: **I do not own iCarly. It belongs to the creators of the show.

* * *

**Chapter 1: ****Two Weeks Before**

**

* * *

**"Hey, Spenc," I greeted as I sat down on his couch, waiting for Carly.

He looked up for a moment, and mumbled, "Freddie."

Odd. Then again, Spencer _was_ odd.

"Is something wrong?" I began walking over to where he seemed to be working on something.

He held up a finger, and grunted, pulling something out from under the table. Funny. I hadn't even realized he was under the table. Sighing, he tried to get up and began struggling, so I dragged him out from under there.

"Thanks, kid," he sighed. "You know that scum Sam dated?"

Yeah, I did. He tried to kiss Carly….

"Yeah, I remember him. What about him?"

"Well, he ruined my clay-mation film. So I had to speed it up. Now I'm doing another one."

"But, won't someone move it like last time?"

I was confused. Why would Spencer go through all this trouble starting the movie, again, and go through about a thousand frames before someone completely messes it up? I know he's an artist and all, but he doesn't have that much patience.

He smirked at me. "You doubt my reasoning, don't you?"

"Uhh…no, Spencer. Not at all."

"Mmhm. Well, Mr. Fredward Non-believer, I would like to take you on a tour through my project."

Ugh.

"I think Carly's almost—"

"Nonsense! She's a girl, she's nowhere near almost done."

I smirked. "Yeah, you're probably right."

I probably shouldn't have said that. Carly heard us both and I'm guessing she knows what Spencer's going to show me because she glared at me before dragging Sam back upstairs after she pelted a rubberband at me.

"That hurt, Sam!"

"What?" Spencer looked around us and laughed. "Sam's not down here, Freddie. Faking insanity won't get you out of this. Now, onward to my table!"

I glared at the stairs and followed him to the kitchen table. He had the scenery for his film painted and set up. The backdrop was painted black, mostly, but had dark green splats all over the place like he threw slime all over it. In one corner there was a neon yellow blob which looked suspiciously like vomit. He changed the actors though. Instead of a burrito and weird hamster and robot thing, he had a sock, a seahorse, a taser, and a unicorn. Yeah, a sock, and a taser. They looked the least weird though. The sock was multi-colored like all of Socko's other creations, but it gave off this scent. Not a bad one. A good one. Pineapple and coconut. Pina- colada. Like Carly's lip-gloss that one time.

"Freddie, why are you blushing?" Spencer asked me, looking at me curiously.

Oh, crud. "No reason." I cleared my throat. "So, why does it look like the sea horse's head's coming off?"

He grinned at me like a maniac and explained.

"You see Freddie, this film involves action, adventure, and dismembered crew members. Poor little Cecil over there, get it 'Sea-seal' and he's a horse, haha, well…Cecil was attacked by a school of angry fish. Not a shark, or a crab, but fish. He has this delicate condition in which his skin is easily torn apart by little tiny fish teeth. Poor guy. It makes it funny for my film, though. So, he's a part of the crew who goes on an adventure."

Wow. That sounded…like Spencer.

"Um, sweet. What kind of an adventure?"

"You wish I would tell you, don't you?"

No.

"Yes."

"Do you really want to know?"

No.

"Yes."

He crouched down underneath the table and motioned me over. Whispering in my ear, he said, "They're going—"

"Spencer! Just tell him how the table works already so we can go to school!" Carly screeched, making both Spencer and I bump our heads on the table.

He sighed. "Fine. Since the Sass Master over there—"

"I am **not** sassy!"

How did she hear that?

"Yes she is." He whispered. "Ok, quick run down: the figurines are attached to the table through wires coursing through their clay veins and there's a motor under the table-right here, and it's connected to that box over there—not there—yeah, there—and I have a remote which controls all of their little movements."

"Impressive." I nodded "But, where'd you get someone and the tools to hook it up?"

"Techsavy."

"I love that place! Did you know that from Wednesday to next Tuesday they have discounts for members of the Inventors' Club?"

"No way! I just joined that, like last week! Hey, do you want to go there Friday when you get out of school?"

"Really? I'd love to. How long do you think we'll be there, I probably need to tell my mo—"

I was interrupted by a sudden jerk on my arm, as someone yanked me out from under the table. I was about to yell at whoever it was when I was pulled to my feet and shoved towards my backpack.

"Get your backpack Benson, there's some ham waiting for me at school." Sam yelled.

"But, we didn't get to finish our plans." Spencer frowned.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't care about the stupid date you two are planning. Finish up later."

"Sam!" I shouted at her, rubbing my sore arm.

Carly rolled her eyes, and grabbed us both. "Oh, let's just go you two. Bye Spencer."

"Bye," he shouted "Make sure you tell Freddie not to forget about asking his mom!"

"I won't forget!" I yelled back at him, just as the door slammed.

* * *

"Gibby, my man, where's the ham?" Sam asked, walking over to Gibby as soon as we entered the school.

Carly just looked at her, and shook her head. "Is it even healthy to eat that much ham in the morning?"

I scoffed, looking at Sam gobbling it down. "If Sam's eating it, no."

Carly smiled, and I sighed. She always looked so pretty.

"We'd better leave Sam to her ham and get to class. The bell's gonna' ring soon." She said, and she was right. As soon as we sat down in our seats for English, the bell rang and Ms. Briggs began talking.

"As much as I detest the likes of you children, I am still a teacher. The school board has this "policy" of forcing teachers to give up their own personal time to make you students into better people. I don't even know how that's possible, but I'm still being paid, so I don't care. Now, they've issued out an updated list of standards and practices they want us to meet, so it's time to revamp—as you supposed hipsters like to say—the curriculum and educate you all on the finer points within the English language," she paused as Sam rushed past her and into her seat, behind me. Like the time she dumped her bowl of cereal into my backpack, she dumped the bone from her leftover ham into my newly bought backpack. I resisted turning around to see the satisfaction on her face. "Miss Puckett, I see you've decided to momentarily cease with appeasing your insatiable mammoth appetite for a moment. I appreciate that." I could practically hear the smirk upon her face in the hushed silence. However, I couldn't stop the revolted look from crossing my face. "Stop making facial expressions, Fredward Benson, or I'll have you sent to Mr. Howard."

I glanced at Carly, confused. "Don't you mean the Principal's office?"

"No," I saw a glint in her eye which slightly frightened me, "I don't. After Mr. Howard gets through with you, we might send you to Ted. Now hush up so I can finish!" I did. "As I was saying, you children are growing up everyday into bratty contributors of our society, so like the angelic woman I am, I'm offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity to better yourselves. It's cutting into my personal time, the principal likes to call "planning time," and most of you will probably fail at it anyways. It's an essay."

The class then broke out into groans. And, what the heck, I joined them. Sam was the only one smart enough to try to do something about it though. Smart in the sense that she was bold. As if Samantha Puckett could ever be an smarter than a bucket of fat cakes.

"What are you yappin' about Briggs? None of these nubs are going to do monkey work for you, and you know it!"

Monkey work?

"'Monkey Work'?" Carly whispered to me, a bit disturbed and confused. Ms. Briggs however, seemed inflamed from the insult to her integrity. Her face was reddened and clashed with her hair, and bright colors, but she proceed to defend herself.

"I don't know what you are referring to Miss. Puckett," she said in a clipped tone.

Sam rolled her eyes and licked her lips, as if tasting a meaty challenge. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. Now, if you would kindly quiet down, I have to finish my explanation on the finer points within the English language-"

"Mama never backs down from a challenge. You know what else? Mama knows when someone wants something. So, Briggs, what. is. in it. for. you?"

I hadn't even considered that. With all of my technological knowledge, and elevated intelligence over one Samantha Puckett, I had not even considered the possibility that a Ms. Francine Briggs would be using her students for her own personal gain. Perhaps I was ignorant of this possibility because of our most moral faculty member, Principal Franklin. Of course, like usual, Sam must have forgotten a fraction relating to moral uprightness, which was located within our very own Ridgeway school.

"Nothing, Miss. Puckett, now quiet down," she repeated. But Sam never quiets down.

She was smiling derisively. "You know, a little birdie just pooped in my ear and told me something. Ya wanna know what?"

"No, I do not. And I said quiet Puckett!"

"There's a vacation in store for the teacher sponsoring the student who wins an essay contest on national and international peace. Of course, the essay has to be _not the worst_ to win nationals. No one in this school's capable of that, Briggs. Isn't that right?"

"Go to Mr. Howard, Puckett. Mr. Howard!" Ms. Briggs exclaimed, seething with her blood vessels popping into appearance.

After reaching into my backpack for her abandoned bone, with a little ham still on it, Sam grabbed her unpacked back pack and slowly backed outside of the classroom. Before closing the door, she bowed, possibly glanced at me, and said,

"Mama always plays to win."

* * *

After first period, the rest of the day seemed to be passing by uneventful. When Sam gleefully left English, Ms. Briggs expelled the rumor she had set in, but the damage was done. Gibby walked out with Carly and I, overjoyed. At first, I couldn't tell if it was because of Sam's banishment from class, or the opportunity to possibly have a shot at winning a trip to an unknown location. That might cost a lot of money. The likelihood of any of Ridgeway's finest ever making it to the national level was extremely slim, but I couldn't tell poor Gibby that. Instead, I let him bore Carly's and my own ears off with what he had already started planning for his essay. Started planning within the course of an hour, with Ms Briggs still in the room to breathe down our necks.

He said he was going to talk about Gandhi-Carly looked at me at that moment to share our mutual surprise with Gibby's knowledge of Gandhi-and what he did with civil disobedience. He loosely understood the subject, but I had to correct him on some points before he combined Gandhi with Martin Luther King Jr. and gave birth to a depressing essay on peace and assassination. When we broke apart from him, Carly took that as her opportunity to tell me about what she was inspired to write. Did all of Ridgeway already have an idea for their essay? The deadline wasn't for two more weeks!

However, I couldn't refuse anything she wanted to talk to me about, so I listened, and listened, and listened. How did both Gibby and she come up with legitimately good topics? Gibby's was by no means unique, but Carly's own was a unique turn on the topic. She wanted to talk about the ever pressing emergence of sex crimes and sex trafficking in African countries. She had never given me a reason before to believe she was interested in this particular news. iCarly was all she ever worried about. That, and grades, and boys, and...not me.

I told her I would read the first draft if she wanted me to, and I meant it. I would read anything of Carly's, edit anything of Carly's...

But while Gibby knew what he wanted to write about, and Carly knew what she wanted to write about, I was basically clueless on my topic. What was original when it came to peace? Could I have written about a possible peace between the Native Americans and the early American settlers? If I did I would have to research a lot, too much in fact...I could have written about how a peace between Aruthor and Aspartamay would result in the destruction of the intergalactic world. Somehow, though, I figured Spencer would be the only one willing to read it through for me, and the only one to appreciate it.

Which led me to where I was: in Biology class, without a lab partner, and worrying over an essay that was due in two weeks but had everyone spazzing out over it.

Carly lent over to me, from her lab bench with Gibby as her partner.

"What are we supposed to be doing exactly?" she asked me, looking adorably confused.

She had her hair pulled up in a messy bun today. It always looked good when she had it pulled up or back, and yet she always had it down. I was going to ask her why she wore her hair up today, but remembered, it was rumored that Shane was returning to Ridgeway after what Carly and Sam did to him. I hoped he didn't return. Despite it all, she looked otherwise the same as normal, wearing normal clothes, and her typical makeup. Some blush, and lip gloss. Her lips sparkled with light glitter today, and I wondered if it was that pina-colada flavor she let me taste. I hope not; it wasn't that appealing. Maybe I should tell her one day that her lips don't need artificial enhancement, even in the form of lip gloss. They were fine the way they were..

"Freddie? What are we supposed to do?" I must have spaced out.

Clearing my voice, I said "Umm...I wasn't paying attention."

"What? But you always do. Why not?"

"Thinking." Daydreaming. "That essay has been really gnawing on my mind. You and Gibby already have a topic in mind, but nothing is good enough."

"You rang for a Gibby?" Gibby appeared from his and Carly's lab bench over to mine to join the conversation. I saw Carly rolling her eyes.

"Sure. I don't know what to do about this essay contest. I even heard Nellie seriously talking about it in the hallways," I told him.

"Dude, seriously? Negative Nellie? Who cares!"

"She's actually really nice you know. Not that negative when you really give her a chance," Carly put in.

"You were the one who started telling us how negative she was!"

She pursed her lips. "True, but still...second chances."

I sighed. Carly could be so frustrating at times. She was perfectly sweet, don't get me wrong, but she constantly changed her mind. One minute she's all for one thing, and then the next minute she completes a turn of 180 degrees and you're left isolated, without her as backup. I suppose everyone you love has to have some type of faults.

"Second chances, second schmaces. Shannon didn't give me a second chance. She didn't even give me a first!" Ah, the plight of poor Gibby.

Carly proceeded to assure Gibby that Shannon was certainly missing out on someone incredible, and her rejection made him turn into a better person. He became more confident, more self-assured, and more, well..Gibby. Then she said Shannon had bad taste in guys anyways, and I took offense to that. I considered myself to be pretty tasty. Delicious in fact. However, Carly obviously didn't agree, and never would. Why couldn't she love me like my mother wanted?

While she was busy assuring and then reassuring Gibby of his awesome Gibbyness, I chose to look around the classroom trying to find a clue as to what we were actually supposed to be doing. Biology classes were truly overrated. It especially seemed like they kept popping up in every book and every movie known and appreciated by some teenagers. And hated by others. Simon, the awesome kid who can squirt milk from his eyes, was filling a beaker with distilled water, and preparing to squirt that from his eyes. I really hoped Sam hadn't rearranged the labels on the bottles anytime soon. Chemicals aren't meant to interact with the eyes. However, I now knew what we were working on had something to do with distilled water, and maybe chemicals. But this wasn't Chemistry. I needed more help.

Mr. Henning was over by Wendy and Wesley, the gossip queen and the beat-boxer, hounding them for following the directions apparently in the book, and not how he assumed we knew he wanted us to do them. So they were in the science book? I chose to risk getting in trouble and asking an extremely important question.

I raised my hand and waited for Mr. Henning to see me. Carly and Gibby saw me and wondered what I was doing, but I ignored them in favor of the clock. It would be twenty minutes. Twenty minutes until the bell rang and we would be free for lunch. I couldn't help from wondering where Sam was. Could she have gotten sent home from school that quickly? I guess so.

"Yes, Freddie?" Mr. Henning finally got to me.

"Yeah, sir. Umm, I was extremely curious," I began, summoning up courage. "You see, the book has entirely different directions for what we're supposed to be doing, but I know your directions are ultimately better. However, I don't have a copy of them. Could you tell me-and Carly and Gibby-so we can correctly perform the experiment up to your standards?"

He looked at me, stunned. And I sat stunned as well. I had never done a single act like that before, and yet there I was, practically lying to my teacher. It's safe to say my voice went up a few pitches while I was talking. But then he smiled-no grinned-and I knew I was successful.

"Of course, Freddie! Of course, of course!" He started laughing. "Now, one of the key differences between the book and my obvious hippie genius is..."

The last twenty minutes of class droned on.

* * *

So, no one finished their experiments. We would continue it the next class. That was fine with us. The problem was that at the last thirty seconds of class, he passed out papers regarding a science project. A group science project. After Carly had almost murdered the planet with hazardous science experiment, Mr. Henning was still sour over her. And Sam remained his prized student, showing efficiency, and a love for the environment. He almost cried because she wasn't there for him to thank and praise! I felt like up-heaving.

What that meant was that Carly, the worst student, could not corrupt his best student, so naturally he paired Carly with Gibby and me with Sam, despite the other 18 kids in the classroom.

I grunted as I kicked open my apartment door, hating school, hating Mr. henning, and hating _Sam_. It was obvious who would carry the weight in this science project, too obvious. My mother rushed into the living room as she heard the commotion.

"Freddie! My Freddie? Are you alright?" She looked frazzled and held a frying pan.

"Just fine, mom," I deadpanned. "Sorry about the door."

She didn't relax, but hesitantly put the pan down. She rushed over to me, slapping her hands all over my face, trying to check for a fever.

"Are you sick? Do you have a fever? What did you catch from that filthy school? Oh, I knew I should have sent you to private school-no home-school. Home-school is the option!"

"Mom!"

She stopped, her eyes wide and attentive. "I'm not sick. No fever. It was just a bad day."

"Oh, Fredward, what happened? Was it the Shay girl? Did she reject my Freddikins again? That hussy! Why, I ought to-"

"Mom, mom! It wasn't anything Carly did!" Or didn't do. I frowned. "And don't call her that. I have a science project due in two weeks and and essay contest whose deadline is two weeks. And for the science project, it's in groups. Whoop-de-doo."

I headed towards my room, knowing my mother would follow me, and threw my backpack on my bed. I fell backwards, being thankful for the daily pillow-fluffing my mother did.

"Oh," she picked up a stray pillow and began fluffing. "Well, who is it? Who's this partner of yours that has your underwear in a twist? No one actually twisted them right? That Puckett girl loves giving people wedgies ever since you built that underwear yanker for _iCarly_. Oooh, that show has changed you, my Fredward. Changed you. You could do better things you know. Why don't you hang with the A.V. nerds you used to talk about? What about that Shane kid? He's not dead, right? You two can do something this weekend. I know! I can take you boys on the ferry. Of course, you'll need life jackets, but that all can be arranged. Just call him up, and I'll get it all in order. What do you say, sweetie? Sweetie?"

I groaned. Oh, wow. Why, mom, why? I thought it would be better to just shoot the answers off as fast as I could, and then run for it.

"Samantha Puckett is my partner. No, I don't have a wedgie. iCarly hasn't changed me, except for making me a better technician. I mean, come on! I'm their tech producer! Think of what that means to colleges! And the "A.V. nerds" are fine without me. Except for Shane. He's no longer a nerd, but he's not dead. And no we will not go on the ferry this weekend! Besides, I have plans this Friday," I rushed out, realizing at the last minute I didn't exactly ask my mother yet to go with Spencer to Techsavy's. I sprung for the bed, grabbed my laptop case and headed for the door.

"You come back here this instant, Freddie Benson! Where do you think you're going on this Friday? Who are you letting steal you from your mother?"

I quickly turned around, shouted, "With Spencer to Techsavy. There's a sale!"

Before she could say that much more, I closed the door, and crossed the hallway to Carly's apartment, hearing her through the door.

"Oh, those Shays!"

* * *

Spencer was in the living room, as usual, when I came in. It made me wonder how he ever got money to fund his art sculptures if he didn't have a real job. Oh, and pay the bills.

"Freddo!" he greeted, briefly looking up from his clay-mation scene set up. "What up?"

I sighed. "Not much. Just a bad lesson with the evil Ms. Briggs, a stupid essay contest, and a group project with Sam."

He mad a face. "Eww. The _Briggs_," he shuddered. "That woman ruined my life."

"How?"

"I don't know, she just did." He shrugged. "What's this about you working with Sam? Wah?"

I nodded glumly. "Yeah, it's true. We were assigned as partners by Mr. Henning."

"Mr. Henning?"

"The hippie man with the beard. I think you were there with us at the Groovy Smoothie when we all learned the guy helping Carly was wanted by the police."

"Oh, yeah? Was T-Bo selling Bell-peppers on a stick?"

"I can't remember. Maybe pringles."

"Hmmm."

"Yep."

"So, can you come this Friday? Did your mother, Fredward, say yes?"

I froze. "Not exactly." He started. "Wait! She didn't completely say no either, because I kind of ran out...hearing her shout 'Oh, those shays!'"

"We'll figure something out."

"Thanks."

"Yep."

"Hmmm."

He slapped his hand on my leg and stood up, ruffling my hair. "Well then, Freddo, do you want to help me with my clay-mation film?"

I stood up too. "Actually, I should start heading upstairs to brainstorm for iCarly. The show's on Thursday and-"

"It's a movie of epic proportions!"

"But I think I'm already late and-"

"Ughfjtb!"

"So, I should-"

"Frudenhegehimer!"

"And...what?"

"So, you'll help?"

I sighed. I could already see Carly yelling at me, and Sam throwing a fat cake at my head. Whatever. I needed a break.

"Yeah, Spencer. I'll help you. So, why is the taser in this scene.."

* * *

**A.N: **Sorry I haven't updated this in like a year guys. School's been hectic. But, that's not an excuse. I hope your holidays were absolutely incredible, and your entire year as well. However now, it's 2011, and I graduate this year! This was Chapter 1 and to a good new year! I hope you enjoyed. – Tewr ^_^


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